


Give Writing Club Funding You Cowards

by guardianofdragonlore



Series: Writing Club Rules [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Overwatch Mention, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 09:55:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12932805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianofdragonlore/pseuds/guardianofdragonlore
Summary: A discussion about funding leads to not so serious revelations.





	Give Writing Club Funding You Cowards

Odo was frustrated. Completely, utterly, frustrated. The Writing Club didn’t have five dollars; it didn’t have five cents! All the money had been redistributed to the  _ other  _ activities in the school.

 

“The football team needed another pair of socks,” Garak sighed. He sat in the teacher’s chair, spinning around lazily. Ezri was on an orchestra trip, so she couldn’t make the meeting. Odo would text her the minutes later. He was sure he could get Jadzia to give him her number. They were neighbors apparently, and that’s how Jadzia knew to come to the club for homework help.

 

“If we want to do anything that costs money, we’ll have to do a fundraiser,” Odo said. Kira mentioned doing a fundraiser for Wrestling during lunch. They were going to do yard work for some old ladies in the neighborhood behind the school. Either that or some other labor intensive work.

 

Odo glanced at Garak out of the corner of his eye. No one in the club was particularly… suited for hard labor.

 

“Fundraising,” Garak mused. “I suppose we could charge for the homework help. Jadzia would pay anything to keep her English grade high.”

 

“No Garak.”

 

Odo pinched the bridge of his nose. They still had to get things approved by Mr. Ghemor, even if he rarely came to club meetings. He would never approve of a black market.

 

A car wash would be more legitimate, but it was freezing outside. That would not work.

 

Garak straightened up in his chair and whirled around to face Odo.

 

“A bake sale,” Garak said, “Ezri loves to bake.”

 

“We can’t make Ezri our slave either.”

 

“...what’s the English word for this situation?”

 

Odo thought a moment. “Stressful?”

 

“No…” Garak slowly began to spin in his chair. “Um…”

 

Shaking his head, Odo looked down at his desk. His phone was tucked neatly into a corner, and a blank piece of paper sat in front of him. He expected to actually write in Writing Club, but that never seemed to happen.

 

“Fucked!”

 

“Excuse me!?”

 

Garak slowed enough so Odo could see smug smile as he spun. 

 

“The word is fucked. This situation is fucked,” he said slowly. Silence stretched for a moment. “I feel the judgement rolling off of you.”

 

“You seem so classy, then you open your mouth,” Odo finally managed to say. He changed the subject quickly. “We could pet sit to get money.” 

 

He knew a lot of his neighbors were worried about about their pets during their holiday travels. If Writing Club could capitalize on that, they could make a fortune.

 

Garak hummed in agreement, tapping his chin. 

 

“This reminds me of my childhood in Sicily-”

 

Odo snorted, cutting Garak off. 

 

“I thought you were from Argentina. Or was it France? You’ve said both,” Odo said, rolling his eyes. When Garak realized no one could place his accent, he took full advantage. So far, in the time Odo had been a part of the club, he claimed he was from a dozen different countries. The only place he outright denied being from was England. It was too dreary, he said, to have produced someone like him.

 

“Those too,” Garak chuckled, “but in Sicily there was a young girl. A lovely person, to say the least. She was very, very poor though. Every week she ended up selling a different service.”

 

Odo tuned Garak out and looked down at his blank paper. It was more important than any of Garak’s tales anyway. He would go on about some persons woes that were ultimately solved by the intervention of a larger power.

 

A homeless man given a mansion by a corporate banker. An old woman abandoned by her family adopted by a top general. Little children, orphaned by a fire, given lavish clothing by a king. They were all the same.

 

Not to say that Garak wasn’t good, Odo mentally backtracked. Quite the opposite. He was a very talented writer, but he always insisted on following a set of themes. He rarely deviated from them, and it got boring after a bit. 

 

Odo’s phone buzzed. He looked up at the screen and groaned when he saw the contact name.

 

**Fukat-All**

_ wut was the math hw in janegays class _

 

**Odo**

_ Using ‘janegay’ to demean a teacher you do not like is both insulting to me, but also to Ms. Janeway. She is proud of her sexuality and you should respect that. Not many bisexuals have a real life role model. _

 

**Fukat-All**

_ It wsa autocorrect _

 

**Odo**

_ You have no self-awareness. Page four hundred forty three, numbers ten through fifty. _

 

**Fukat-All**

_ ur so weird odo  _

 

A light touch on Odo’s shoulder startled him. He jumped and twisted to face Garak. He always managed to sneak up on him.

 

“Sorry,” Garak said. “You seemed...annoyed.”

 

Odo sighed through his nose. Dukat always did that. Ever since middle school, Dukat made it a special point to be as offensive at possible without getting into trouble. It drove Odo crazy.

 

“Do you know anyone named Dukat? He managed to get himself onto my Discord,” Odo said.

 

Garak’s wince was audible.

 

“I do know Dukat. He lives in my apartment building. I usually send him a glitter bomb when he gets too difficult.”

 

A laugh ripped itself out of Odo before he could smother it. The image of Dukat receiving a glitter bomb was perfect. Garak smiled too, but he didn’t laugh.

 

“Ship Your Enemies Glitter is not blocked by the school filters,” Garak said. “I usually order from them during lunch.”

 

“That’s…” Odo coughed.

 

“Petty? I know. Pettiness makes life bearable for me.”

 

It was the pure dishonesty in Garak’s eyes that made Odo smile. It was so typical. So why did he appreciate it so much? Odo hated lies, they made life much more complicated than it needed to be. Garak did nothing but lie. 

 

“So… you have a Discord?” Garak asked. Odo nodded. He sometimes played videogames with Kira and Jadzia. Overwatch was his favorite. Of course Kira and Jadzia insisted on playing everything but Overwatch.

 

“Yes.”

 

Garak chuckled.

 

“Me too. I usually play with the dating simulators. The channels I use are highly entertaining.”

 

“Dating simulators?” Odo drawled. He could actually picture Garak playing one of them, and that was the worst part.

 

“That and Overwatch,” Garak said. “Reaper is quite handsome.”

 

Odo put his head down in his hands.

 

“Reaper is not handsome,” he said. “He wears a mask.”

 

Garak huffed and slid into the desk next to Odo.

 

“He is though! He is a DILF!” Garak argued. Odo snapped up.

  
“WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT MEANS!” 


End file.
